In Sickness and in Health
by timelucked
Summary: In sickness and in health, she was always there. Always there to heal him, to mend the broken hearts of a Time Lord. To satisfy him with the ringing of her laughter. But there was one injury she could never heal for him, because she was no longer there.


"She understands me, you see. There has been no one in the universe like her. There have been others who have helped, others who have loved, who have laughed and who have played. But never have I had a companion to hold me when I'm sick. To heal me when I'm down; mend me when I was broken. To stick with me forever because she said so and she meant it.

Oh, and she meant it. She meant every word - that one word - that one word that could mean a hundred, a thousand, but is only one. Our forever is her forever, and her forever is mine. Always.

"She healed me in a way no one could, in a way no one had. You wouldn't understand. No one could. I sometimes feel that in most instances, even I don't understand; and it's my love, and it's my hearts that beat to a rhythm that spell out her name.

I have a garden in the TARDIS, you know. She made it for me, the TARDIS did. It has only one flower, spread out like a legion, like an army ready to stand, ready to fall, and ready to be touched and felt and loved. In so many ways that one - those thousands - flower is just as she was. Is. It is a rose and it carries the essence its namesake provided her. It carries her in ways I cannot.

She was strong, she was gentle, she was brave, and she was loyal. She brushed my cheek when I cried; I did it for her when she did as well. She held me when I talked about the War, as I did when she spoke about her father. She wetted my brow when I was sick and needed healing; I patted her back and rubbed medicine into her tired bones when she needed it too. And most of all she was there. She was there and she was wonderful.

"She isn't anymore. Just the flower remains. Not the girl. Sometimes I see them crying, even though I know they can't; know that it's really me. I think it's me. When I visit them, I'm never sure, never certain, never really there. It took a whole universe to separate us, an oscillated reality and that's what it was, when she wasn't there.

A war, a battlefield, temptation; they meant nothing to her; to Rose. The only thing that could steal her – could take her, kidnap her, tear her away from me - was an alternate universe. Only time and space could rip her away. I guess in a way, I did that to her too. But that was by choice. That was of her own volition, her own decision.

"It's not like I haven't tried to get her back. When Jack told me he visited her, stayed in the shadow and watched her grow up - watched our Rose flower and blossom into the wonderful human being she was - is, was, had been, always will be - I was tempted. I was so tempted it burned. Burned like the universe. Burned like the fires of a planet's burning core. Burned like the sun. I was trapped, and I was burning. I wanted so bad to watch her, to see her if only for one last time.

I did that. I burned up a sun just to say good bye; burned up a source of light and energy, of heat and warmth just to see her again. In part it was because I had to see her, had to know she was safe; had to see her smile, hear her laugh. I burned up a sun just to see my Rose Tyler. And it was worth it. Oh it was _so_ worth it. The other part was because I wanted to see, to be near, to feel something burning as I was. To watch as something was torn apart and imploded as I had been, as I had felt. As I still felt.

"I hadn't said what I needed to then. Which is why I can never see her again – why I could never, and will never. Why I can never go back in time. Because I know that in that moment when I see her again, I will just whisk her away, tell her what she meant, what she was, and what she would always be to me. It would skew our timelines, they would cross and they would change.

I would destroy all we had. She would never know of our adventures, never know of our trust and our friendship. She would never know the feeling of being saved, of being brave, and of saving. She would never know of the universe and of galaxies and all those she helped - the thousands and millions, the armies and civilians; the kings and the subjects, the monsters and the kind. But worst of all, she would never know of our love. She would never know of our joy. She would never know of the nights we would just sit and stare up under the stars, recounting tales of long ago and of those to come.

"And that is why," the Doctor, voice softer and more broken with each memory, with each word and each line and each verse of his sad, sad song, touched his palm to the cup of his companion's cheek. Her mocha skin was warm beneath his calloused touch, as rough and as worn as his body and spirit. "I can never feel the way you do. And I am sorry, Martha," he stood, his body sighing and his coat whispering sadness to the silent room. "I am so, so sorry. But that is one adventure," he strode over to the door, placing his hand upon it. "I can not have with you." And with his words, he left her, still sleeping, still sound; still whole.

Love was one curse he was not willing to place on the young doctor, not when he still felt the affects - the warmth, the touch, the ache, the wonder, and the pain - of another. And those were symptoms, the Doctor, could never heal.


End file.
